


Ghosts

by Fericita



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Canon verse, F/M, Oranges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:14:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28287555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fericita/pseuds/Fericita
Summary: Henry dreams of three ghosts. But the last one might be real.Thanks @the-spaztic-fantastic for the beta-ing and @jomiddlemarch for the prompts.  Continuing the grand tradition of oranges in Mercy Street Christmas stories like The Stockings Were Hung by @ultrahotpink, When, What to My Wondering Eyes Should Appear by @jomiddlemarch and While Visions of Sugarplums Danced in Their Heads by @sagiow.
Relationships: Emma Green/Henry Hopkins
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6
Collections: Mercy Street Crossover Advent Silver and AU





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Stockings Were Hung By The Chimney With Care](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13167219) by [ultrahotpink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultrahotpink/pseuds/ultrahotpink). 
  * Inspired by [When, what to my wondering eyes should appear](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13347102) by [middlemarch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch). 
  * Inspired by [While Visions of Sugarplums Danced in their Heads](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13224876) by [sagiow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagiow/pseuds/sagiow). 



He shouldn’t have humored Jed. 

He should have just read Luke, maybe some John to appease Jed’s literary sensibilities. But Henry had started with Matthew, the very beginning of the New Testament, hoping to guide the Mansion House patients and staff into a contemplative observance of Christ their Savior, born this day. About thirty seconds in, Jed had complained about the long list of names and insisted on reading Dickens’s popular tale  _ A Christmas Carol _ and so now Henry was awakening from a nightmare, the ghost of his past bothering him as he remembered the sins of his youth, glaring at Jed as he slumbered on peacefully in bed a few feet away. 

Henry sat up in his bed, his hands curled into fists, remembering how it felt to hit with such anger and how it had felt, later still, to know that the boy had died, confused and cold, still not recovered from the beating. He tried to focus on the promise of forgiveness, the familiar way his hands clasped together in prayer instead of into fists, the way the nightmare was just that - a memory and not a prophecy. “As far as the east is from the west,” he whispered, his lips barely forming the words he knew so well in his heart, “so far he has removed our transgressions from us.” 

He eventually slept again, but was interrupted by another ghost who could rival those of Ebeneezer Scrooge, this one the Confederate shooting at Emma. Henry woke and thought the sweat on his brow was from the river; thought himself back there, drowning a man so he and Emma wouldn’t die. He gasped and threw the covers off as if they were holding him down in cold water and then paced the length of this room. 

It was harder to pray about this ghost. Sins of the past have time to settle, the sharp pain has had time to dull, the consequences have been meted out and lived with. The mind has had a chance to believe that forgiveness is real, is given, has been received. Or so Henry told those he counseled. As Emma pointed out to him angrily in the chapel, he hadn’t been acting like he believed it.

Jed stirred but did not wake so Henry risked lighting a candle, deciding to read instead of sleep. 

And then the last of his ghosts visited. 

That’s what she must be.

Emma, in his doorway, all in white with her long hair floating around her shoulders, startling a bit to see him but smiling nonetheless. A future that he wanted - one where he could see her like this every night - but one that felt as impossible as Jed waking before the sun. 

“You caught me in the act, Henry. I was leaving Christmas oranges for you and Dr. Foster. Belinda managed to find some and we wanted to surprise you.” Her hands had been hidden in the folds of her nightdress and shawl but she lifted them now, revealing the bright orange fruit. “Merry Christmas.”

He put his hands out and she placed the oranges in them. 

At the touch of her hand, he knew she must be real. 

“Thank you, Emma.” She smiled and as she turned and walked back down the hallway, he thought she might be a future he could have after all. If he could come up with the words to ask for it. If he could forgive himself and believe her forgiveness.

“You better go follow her back to her room, Henry,” said Jed, groggily from his corner of the room. “And try to do something more interesting than read of a dozen chapters’ worth genealogy.”


End file.
